Anathema (The Eating Woods, #1)

by Keri Lake

For those who feel lost in a dark and pathless wood. Believe in the magic beyond the trees.

Sablefyre. An ancient element of the gods, forged eons ago in Aethyria’s fiery heart. A single touch could turn a body to ash, and blood to stone.

His appearance was the result of having performed the Emberforge ritual on himself, the same ritual he intended for her son. A rite that only young children were believed to tolerate without any permanent disfigurement, seeing as they hadn’t yet gone through their Ascendency.

once the black flame entered the body, it destroyed all natural blood magic.

He reached for Zevander, running his finger over the marking on his chest, a curious black swirl that’d seemed to anger Cadavros. On closer examination, there seemed to be words written in ancient Primyrian embedded in the swirl in a way that reminded Lady Rydainn of a wax seal across his heart. Branimir’s lips twisted to a snarl as he whispered the words that stabbed her conscience. “Il captris nith reviris.” What is taken will never return.

unless prodded by force, because The Eating Woods never returned what was given.

I was no more than a few days old when I’d been found abandoned before that cursed arch in a wicker basket, a single black rose upon my chest. No one knew who’d left me there, but every villager speculated that, whoever they were, they must have hoped the woods would eat me, as well.

Emotions I was forced to keep hidden for fear of looking possessed by evil, as girls were often perceived when they felt too much.

I’d learned at too early an age that the sound of a girl’s scream drew nothing more than apathy.

The Sacred Men believed the end of mankind would arrive in the form of total destruction and complete blackness, and that The Red God would deliver them to the Eternal Light. They also believed the more sinners they thinned from our community, the purer their devotion.

How tragic that a woman’s worth equated to the depth of a man’s pockets.

“Go, my Darling, unto that place Where magic still exists Beyond the confines of this cruel world As you will not be missed Instead, I’ll find you in a dream Or a wistful plea on stars Hours of suffering no more redeemed For eternity is ours.”

“I also know that the delicate black rose doesn’t grow well in these parts. Our winters are far too cold for its fragile roots.”

“Zi da’dignio, septmiusz me liberih iteriusz.” If I am worthy, the seven will grant me free passage.

Deep, intelligent eyes that gave an air of youth and mischief, their cat-like shape seductively sleepy. As they sharpened into focus, he broke from his trance.

“They guide the soul to the after, and you share its blood now,” she explained, shoving barley straw into a netted bag. “You walk between realms of the dead and living. The world you’ve known, and the one that has remained hidden from you.”

“He lives because no one killed him. I’m happy to solve that problem.”

“My name is Rykaia, and you’re at the luxurious Castle Eidolon, home of pain, suffering, and utter decay.”

“Because I’m very invested in watching you live a long and prosperous life, Maevyth. If you believe nothing else, believe that.” “I don’t even know you, nor do you know me.” “I know more than you think.”

“If she backs off, I suppose. Otherwise, she’ll be next in line for my blade.”

Torryn snorted. “I feel for the bastard who has to train with her.” “Funny you should say …. That bastard will be you.”

“Beg all you like.” He let out a sardonic chuckle. “I’d quite like to see you on your knees.”

The ashes of our dead protect us in battle, the goddess, in death.

“You don’t have to look threatening to be threatening. Perceived weakness is your most vicious weapon. Remember that, as it will serve as an advantage. You’re small, but your power can make up for your stature, if you learn to wield it well.”

From death, we rose. A new generation was born.

She was beautiful. No, beautiful was too weak a word. She was intoxicating. Exquisitely divine.

“Everything is poison with the proper dose. Even you.”

but kissing her would’ve been the sweetest poison. An intoxicating elixir, as deadly as it was addicting.

“I’ll be sure to pass along a goodbye kiss to her for you.” “Only if you intend to spend eternity in the Shadow Realm,” Zevander said over his shoulder, gnashing his molars at the thought of Ravezio’s lips pressed to hers.

“I have slept for a very long time. But since you arrived, I don’t want to sleep. I want to jump and dance and breathe again.”

“You so much as breathe across her neck, and I will take pleasure in skewering your skull before I set it aflame.”

“You fucking look at her, and I’ll carve your eyes from their sockets then cram them down your gullet.”

“Fuck it all, you stubborn bastard. She’s your mate, Zevander!” Dolion’s words brought him to a grinding halt, and eyes narrowed, Zevander turned to face him. “What did you just say?” “I said she is your mate. I saw it in a vision. She wore your sigil, the mark of your scorpion. As did your son.” The words snaked through his blood with a burning veracity he refused to accept. Shaking his head, Zevander let out a dark and humorless chuckle. “That is a new low for you, old man. That, or you really are as mad as they say.” “I am entirely serious. Tell me you feel nothing for the girl and see how the lies burn your tongue.”

“Some women are fire in your veins and hell between your teeth, Brother. Accept that Maevyth will never be safe. And no one will be safe from you because of it. Now, go find her, or by gods, I will make every day of your life a tribulation.”

The others slowed their approach as he stepped through the portal. After his mate.

“Because I’m a jealous cunt who refuses to entertain thoughts of you lying next to another man. Is that explanation enough?”

“Fucking hell, you are a vicious little rosebud. One minute, you’re soft and inviting, the next, you’re thorns and blood.”

He’d lived too long with the practicality of knowing the stars were too far out of reach, and yet, in his arms lay the brightest of them all.

And in the center of that storm was Maevyth. The only constant. A beacon in a dark, black sea. A light too bright for his eyes, but damn the gods, even if he had to maim and kill for all eternity to keep her safe from his enemies, one fact remained true. She was his. Lunamiszka. My little moon witch.

“And I am yours to touch, Maevyth. I crave your touch more than my next breath.”

“But you did. By the grace of gods or forces or fate, you escaped.” “The gods did nothing. It was you, Maevyth. By the grace of a flitting rope that you managed to tug hard enough.” With a hand against his cheek, I guided his anguished eyes to mine. “Should you slip into that state again, I will grab that rope with both hands and pull you back.” The furrow in his brow deepened. “And if it doesn’t work next time?” “I won’t let go. I promise.”

“You are mine, moon witch. For all eternity and whatever lies beyond it. No soul has ever been more intricately woven into mine than yours.”

“I have killed in a variety of ways, Maevyth, but anything that dares attempt to harm you tonight will suffer the most violent of them all,”

“If preventing this plague means sacrificing your life, then I’ve no interest in saving everyone else. The whole world could perish of disease and famine, for all I care.”